


Ficlets, Drabbles, Metas and Rants

by everyl1ttleth1ng



Series: Atoms and Molecules [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyl1ttleth1ng/pseuds/everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some bits and pieces of FitzSimmons stuff I've previously posted on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dinner: Before I Knew Why Jemma Was Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted to tumblr Oct 16, 2015

“It’s okay, Jemma. I meant what I said. It’s really not a big deal.” Fitz traced tingling fractals across her shoulder. “Do you want to get out of here? We can always try again another time.”

Jemma nuzzled her forehead against his neck, transferring her tears onto his skin. Her pain already thrummed beneath it, indistinguishable from his own.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” she whispered.

Fitz laughed gently. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“Your life didn’t depend on it.”

“Yeah, ask the team about that. They might disagree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, we now know that this was NOT the reason Jemma was crying. But I still like to pretend sometimes.


	2. What do you think we should do about it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a sort of crack-fic meta-esque reflection on the sunrise scene  
> published on tumblr Nov 12, 2015

the thread of conversation went directly from “yes, I, Jemma Simmons, admit, while in full control of my faculties, both then and now, that I dream of spending the rest of my life with you in maybe a little cottage in your beloved highlands” straight to “sooooo, what do you think we should do about this funny bunch of coconuts?” and I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to hear her say in and under and around that: “if you want me, fitz, even though things are pretty impressively messed up right now, i’m very open to hearing your thoughts on how we might go about making this thing that is US happen. VERY open. like, i mean, if you wanted to, you could, idk, maybe even have a go at, idk, maybe kissing me? if you want. i mean… only if you want.” and he’s all like “is this even real? i mean, the tear-tracks have barely even dried but did I really just hear this woman that I am 5000% in love with tell me, on a video from space no less, that she daydreams about her future life with me? and, when I just gave her a massive tiredness-and-dehydration-and-fearing-for-your-life-is-a-really-good-and-plausible-excuse-for-saying-things-you-don’t-mean option out of committing to the amazingness that I’m still not even certain i even really heard her say, she just went ‘i one gazillion percent meant what i said, ok pal? so idk the kissing me option is still on the table as far as I am concerned’ and then he just beams his sun-ray heart eyes at her and my attempt at translation would be something along the lines of “what the hell am i supposed to do now, jemma? coz, like, you know how the human body is, like, 60% water? well this human body is like 99% love for you. but the other 1% is honour and amazingness. so i can’t just bungle my way into this Hogface situation coz I DO NOT SHIP IT but I DO SHIP THE HECK OUT OF US. So I guess I will just continue to stand over here and sunbeam my love for you, telegraphing it out of my eyes across whatever distance there is between us, until you’ve had a nice polite and civilised chat with Hogface and told him that the space-planet-hell-induced fling you had was not cricket and that there is absolutely-no-way-in-heck room for him in our little cottage in Perthshire where we will tend roses and basil and maybe some aloe vera for when we hurt ourselves, which will be a lot less once we’re out of this crazy S.H.I.E.L.D. logo-ed three-ring circus. And THEN, Jemma Simmons, THEN, I am gonna take these heart eyes and get them up really close to your heart eyes and THEN I AM going to kiss the ever-loving heck out of you. Forever.” And she smiled. So she totally got it.


	3. The Edge of Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Published on tumblr December 3, 2015. I watched the promo for Maveth. I tried to imagine that conversation between Fitz and Will. I messaged recoveringrabbit. She said “I would love for Will to be the one to tell Fitz that Jemma loves him!” and then I had to have a go at writing it. 
> 
> Obvs this was written before we found out that Will had "left the building" and something nasty had moved in.

“You’re Will?”

The other man’s grimy features creased in confusion. “Fitz?”

“Yeah.”

“Man, am I glad to see you. I have it on good authority that when all hope is lost, you’re the guy you want in your corner.”

Fitz managed a half-smile. “I’ve actually heard the same about you.”

Will gestured to the other men, trudging along some way behind them. “What about these guys?” he whispered.

Fitz surreptitiously shook his head. 

“Got a plan then?”

“It’s in formulation.”

“Anything you need. I’m ready.”

“Good to know.”

Will scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you. I sort of feel like I should ask for your autograph.” He paused. “Do people still do that?”

Fitz shrugged. “Not me personally, but I think it’s probably still going on.”

“The last autograph I got was Jon Bon Jovi.”

“I’ve heard that name.”

“I should hope so,” Will laughed. “But you. Man, I’ve been stuck here for fourteen years and your name would have to be the word I’ve heard the most in all that time. I’ve had to try pretty hard not to hate you.”

Fitz tried to laugh but almost choked on it. “It’s a pretty constant battle for me as well.”

“How’s that plan of yours coming along? I’d sort of prefer us to duke it out back on Earth.”

Fitz looked the other man up and down. “If it’s going to come down to fisticuffs, I think I’d best surrender now.”

Will shook his head. “Fitz, seriously man. I don’t stand a chance. She loves you more than life itself. I may hate it, but I’ve had the entire time that I’ve known her to come to terms with it.”

Fitz threw up his hands in frustration. “She told me she loves you.”

“Loves me enough not to leave me on an evil planet? I should hope so. But not to be with. That’s all you. Truthfully, I don’t even want to keep loving someone who’s so thoroughly in love with another man. I remember my mom used to tell me there were plenty more fish in the sea. Is that still true?”

“I guess so,” Fitz shrugged. “A mate said it to me not so long ago. It didn’t seem to do me any good.”

“The professor has a way of getting under your skin, right?”

“She does.”

“Then we’d better get you back to her.”

“You as well. But let’s not take that other thing.”

Will extended his hand. 

Fitz nodded, his handshake as firm as his resolve. “Ok, here’s what I need you to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Published on tumblr December 3, 2015.


	4. FitzSimmons Doco Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that cute interaction between Hunter and Fitz re the documentary on the Amazon, I wrote this. I typed it straight into my phone and freely admit I have done no editing since. Hope it's not too rubbish.
> 
> Posted on tumblr March 18, 2016

Fitz felt a deep sense of unease about knowing the planet was going to hell in a handbasket AND being the guy who was personally neck-deep in the process of putting more planes in the sky. But that unease was nothing next to the heart-hammering, hand-shaking, sweat-beading unease of having Jemma sitting so close to him as they settled in to watch this doco Hunter had recommended and still having zero understanding of what “beginning again” really meant.

She HAD said “our kiss” and he was pretty sure she’d said it in such a way that suggested she was amenable to exploring more of that sort of thing, but he’d spent so long in an I-killed-Hogface-so-it’s-over funk that he didn’t quite know how to claw his way back.

But there she was.

Right there.

And was it his imagination or was her hand sort of unnaturally placed alongside where his gripped at the seam of his pants?

He tried to watch the toucans a moment longer. He tried to take in the imminent doom of their natural habitat. He tried to care as deeply for these colorful creatures as he knew he should.

Her knuckles brushed lightly against his. This was not a drill. Jemma Simmons was trying to hold his hand.

The screen might as well have gone blank for all the attention Fitz could give it. Instead he stared at the spot where the backs of their hands met.

He was an engineer. If anyone could turn this to their advantage, surely it was him. But who was he kidding? He hadn’t had the requisite sweaty practice of hand-holding with girls in the movies as a thirteen-year-old. And it seemed sort of awkward as a man in his late-twenties (who had already kissed the girl in question, not that he needed reminding) to navigate these odd social customs usually charted by those without a significant amount of the actual weight of the world on their shoulders.

Jemma moved her hand again, less subtle this time, and though it was ill-advised, he couldn’t help but look up at her face.

She wasn’t watching the screen either. She was blatantly watching him.

Fitz flushed. She must have seen every one of his thoughts flashing across his face and he knew better than to imagine that Jemma Simmons couldn’t read every last one.

“Go on, Fitz,” she whispered, pushing her knuckles lightly against his and shooting him an encouraging smile.

Somehow being released from the expectation of needing to be surreptitious about it emboldened him. He burrowed his hand under hers, his thicker wrist lifting her dainty one to rest against his arm, and watched with satisfaction as their fingers automatically interlaced like cog-teeth in precision machinery.

Jemma smiled wider and turned back to the screen pressing the warm pads of her finger tips against his knuckles.

This momentous task achieved, he expected his heart-rate to even out but, if anything, the new proximity of her, the rhythm of her pulse against his skin and the thrum of expectation in the air tipped him into a new and electrifying adrenaline spike.

His eyes were on the monkeys but even they were powerless to distract him from what he knew he had to do.

Fitz let his head fall back so that by swinging his eyeballs to the left he could watch the side of her face.

Whether Jemma responded to his movement or sensed his eyes on her, Fitz couldn’t tell, but before long she was ignoring the documentary again and mirroring him, their cheeks resting against the fabric of the well-loved couch, their eyes locked, the warmth of their breath co-mingling between them.

Somehow, perhaps it was the rightness of it all, his nerves melted away. He lifted his free hand to touch her face, gently brushing a stray strand of hair back from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. She smiled and edged herself almost imperceptibly closer, shifting her weight onto her hip and resting her legs in his lap, hiding their clasped hands from view.

“Hi,” he heard himself whisper, hoping she wouldn’t require anything more eloquent than that. His hand hovered at her neck. He could think of very few plausible excuses to keep it there.

Jemma slid forward again, maneuvering herself into prime position. Their noses were practically touching.

Fitz slid the hand at her neck back towards him so that his thumb softly framed her cheek. Even an amateur like him could see that conditions were perfect.

Her eyes and smile radiated a welcoming warmth, a beckoning intimacy that encompassed only him, drawing him in so that when they finally met in the middle he experienced a joyful tenderness so different from the hungry passion and aching melancholy of their first encounter.

Her lips were soft and full against his mouth and he heard her sigh as he kissed her - a sigh that seemed to say both “at last!” and “kiss me forever”.

Jemma disentangled her fingers from his and brought her hand up to join the other where it rested against his chest. The imprint of her warmed him through the thin fabric, setting his nerve endings on fire and causing his kiss to grow ever more insistent.

He felt her smile against his mouth, matching his every ounce of wanting but tempering it with a gleeful satisfaction that at last they had begun something they had a chance of seeing to its completion.

She pulled back panting, her hazel eyes staring directly into his. They were distinctly twinkling. “Do you think this is what Hunter had in mind?” she asked.

Jolted back into life on the base, where things other than Jemma existed and mattered, Fitz supposed she was probably right, but he couldn’t care less.

“I’ll buy him a beer later,” he mumbled. “But right now, I’m far more interested in you.”

“What about the planet?” Jemma laughed as he leaned in to kiss her again.

“What planet?” Fitz murmured against her lips. He was pleased to discover that the retort she was clearly preparing stuttered into blissful forgetfulness at his touch.

They could save the world tomorrow. After all, what else was S.H.I.E.L.D. good for?


	5. Start over? Or Mack and Daisy Are 1000% done.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I imagined a scene in which FitzSimmons would try to interpret that whole "can we start over?" conversation and Mack and Daisy "assist".
> 
> Published on tumblr March 30, 2016

Mack: You ok, Turbo? (Follows his gaze through the Playground to where Jemma and Daisy are talking quietly)

Fitz: Mmm? (He looks round and registers Mack standing there.) Yeah… Yeah, fine. 

Mack: (wearing his concerned face) Where are things at with you and Simmons?

Fitz: (sighs) I don’t know, Mack. 

Mack: You know she just wants to be with you, right?

Fitz: (looks back at him unconvinced)

Mack: You want me to call her over here so she can tell you that herself? Again?

Fitz: (grabbing Mack’s enormous forearm) Noo!

Mack: Then I think it’s about time you told her.

Fitz: (looks thoughtfully back towards Simmons)

[cut to where Daisy and Jemma are sitting chatting]

Daisy: Don’t you think this has gone far enough, Jemma? Without, you know, getting anywhere?

Jemma: (hands up to her neck) I’ve tried, Daisy! He just…

Daisy: Needs more encouragement. You told me about your whole “begin again” thing. Maybe he needed something more direct, like “My bunk. 9 o’clock.”

Jemma: (thwacks her)

Daisy: C’mon, Jemma. I just want to see you happy. No one deserves it more than you.

Jemma: (a cloud of doubt shadows her face. she doesn’t believe she deserves anything)

Daisy: See? For that reason alone I’m calling him over here. (she moves as if to stand but Jemma grabs her arm and pulls her down)

Jemma: I’ll talk to him, ok?

Daisy: Thank you. But this time tell him how you really feel.

Jemma: (laughs sardonically) oh yes? and how is that?

Daisy: “My bunk, 9 o’clock” Sheesh, do I have to spell it out for you?

Jemma: (laughing more genuinely this time) oh, do go away.


	6. Inevitability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons hold hands in the "snow" and come to terms with inevitability.
> 
> Published on tumblr April 11, 2016

She was saying something.

He couldn’t take it in at first. All his awareness was focused on his right hand and the warmth of her left one, the softness of her skin against his - the rightness of her skin against his.

When he looked up from where their fingers were interlaced between them, Jemma was watching him, a tentative smile on her lips.

He forced himself to listen to her words.

Maybe some things are inevitable.

He thought about the way she’d taken his hand so deliberately, reluctantly recalling those few fleeting days when he’d been the one to initiate the same precious contact. Back then he’d thought the only thing that mattered was that she was home. It hadn’t taken long for things to get a whole lot more complicated.

Will may have been out of the picture but now there was Malick, the Watchdogs and Ward - it wasn’t as if the obstacles were gone. Yet between him and Jemma, perhaps, the way seemed clearer than it had ever been before.

He knew that at the top of the building looming above, the source of the smoking flakes of burning billboard drifting to the ground around them, Lincoln could be seriously injured, Coulson could have been brainwashed and turned on Daisy, and Ward (or whatever horror his dead body hosted) was apparently at large.

But beside him stood Jemma, calm, perhaps even happy, joking about the future between them - calling them, not cursed, but inevitable.

As she’d pointed out, it wasn’t snow settling on the black fabric of his suit, but ash. Jemma could smile because she’d already envisaged alternative interpretations of everything else Daisy had foreseen and trusted that all would be well.

He could feel the look on his face but was powerless to build up the defences he knew his well-worn expression lacked. Something about her - about her and the kamikaze way that he loved her - stripped him bare. He knew his eyes held out the “I love you” his voice kept somehow holding back.

He let the pads of his fingers press more snugly against the back of her hand. Perhaps all could be well. 

If they were, in fact, certain, inexorable, preordained, and if she believed it, or at least wanted to believe it, then nothing stood between him and the future he’d talked himself into believing he never deserved to have.

Beside him, Jemma’s posture mirrored his, face turned to the sky. Like him, her eyes had gradually gravitated towards the one whose hand held hers.

Despite all the terrible potential of the scene thirty floors above them, Fitz and Jemma laughed to catch one another sneaking glances. Laughed and tilted their heads down, turning their bodies inwards. Jemma closed the circuit, finding his free hand with hers, tangling their fingers together.

As the ash floated down, they clicked into place inside one another’s arms.

Their embrace was as oblivious to Malick’s helicopter whirring into the night sky as it was to Daisy lying prone and bleeding on the rooftop. Their kiss was all tenderness and poignancy - without regard to any other reality but their own. And in the calm that existed only for the two of them, Jemma spoke the words that had long hovered on his lips and he held himself back from voicing them for the last time, if only to let himself listen first, to absorb the life-changing beauty of her words and then speak, the muscles clenching in his jaw.

They felt the telltale gathering pressure of the cloaked quinjet landing nearby and stepped apart, their eyes full of soft promises.

“We’ll talk more later, yeah?” Fitz whispered as her fingers slipped from between his.

Jemma nodded, an unfamiliar variety of smile playing around the corners of her mouth - one he was more than ready to learn how to provoke, how to draw out, how to secure.

They walked towards the jet side-by-side, arms touching. Fitz reached over to brush a flake of ash out of her hair and saw that smile again. 

In the flurry of what followed, as Jemma rushed to tend to Lincoln and Daisy and Fitz was required to examine the footage of Ward with Coulson, they both noticed that the horror and disquiet failed to fully penetrate their hearts. And later that night, when he opened the door to his bunk to find her standing there, it dissipated almost entirely.

“Is it wrong, do you think, Fitz,” she asked against the soundscape of his heartbeat beneath her ear, “to feel so happy in the midst of so much chaos?”

His reply came rumbling from beneath her. “Jemma, when has life with S.H.I.E.L.D. ever been free of chaos? Happiness just has to find a way to coexist.”

“Until we move to Perthshire,” she whispered and felt his arms tighten around her.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Fitz whispered back.


	7. Okay Okay: Jemma Simmons To The Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two posts from tumblr both with the heading "Okay, Okay"
> 
> Posted April 25th and May 5th, 2016

April 25, 2016

Ok, ok, imagine that scene where Daisy is quake-throttling Fitz and saying “I don’t want to hurt you” all-tearily (but NB: not stopping hurting him), and then Jemma (who loves Daisy to bits always has but there are limits, sista) comes on the scene somehow and deftly pulls a gun from the waistband of those leather trousers like some Cold War spy and hits Daisy with three lugs of ICER, no hesitation (coz she loves Daisy, yes, but she luuuuuuurves Fitz), and she damn well knows how to shoot these days (without even holding her breath thank you Agent May), and she rushes to where Fitz has collapsed on the floor to see if he’s ok (and maybe kisses him a little bit and helps him up and dusts him off) and Fitz doesn’t even feel sheepish because he does not have that stupid I’m-the-man-it’s-my-job-to-do-the-saving complex and it’s the rescue scene of our dreams because Jemma gets to be the opposite of what she fears AND she gets to save Fitz.

Take that, Hive. Everyone knows you don’t mess with FitzSimmons.


	8. Okay Okay: Academy 10 Year Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two posts from tumblr both with the heading "Okay, Okay"
> 
> Posted April 25th and May 5th, 2016

May 5, 2016

An Academy ten year reunion where Jemma gets cornered by Milton after Fitz has momentarily disappeared coz he thought he saw Professor Vaughn and Milton’s all flirty like “the years have been kind to you Doctor Simmons” and she makes polite small talk and then Fitz (now sure that the coast is clear of Vaughns) walks up with two glasses of champagne and Jemma just snogs him and runs her flat hands over the lines of his suit so her cluster of diamonds set in vibranium catches the light. Fitz is surprised coz she’s usually a bit uncomfortable about PDA and he can’t really do anything for fear of pouring champagne everywhere. Milton stalks off muttering “I knew it!” Then she just casually takes her glass, brushes a drop of bubbly off Fitz’s lapel, wiggles her fingers for one more good blinding by her engagement ring and carries on with what they were talking about before the Vaughn false alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless fic prompts here people. Take it and run with it!!! (And tag me in it so I can reeeeead it!!!)


	9. 800

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A future ficlet. Fitz and Simmons entertain themselves in their own special (read 'nerdy') way while driving. They have a passenger they haven't seen in some years. She's running from a past outside of her control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I have gathered some followers on tumblr. This is an odd spot in which to find oneself. I made a thing to celebrate. I hope you guys like my little story. It makes me want to write more of it because it feels like a beginning to something that could be really fun to write, but I will try not to until I have flipping finished TMATM (which won’t be until Christmas 2017 at this rate but at least I can promise it will be updated before the week is out!). Thanks for being a super fun bunch, all!

 

“Erm…” Fitz closed his eyes. “Alright, got it. 800.”

Jemma smirked. “Easy. A Harshad number.”

“I’ll need a correct definition of that term before I can award any points,” he shot back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

She shook her head condescendingly. “Alright, _Doctor_ Fitz. Just stop me when you’ve heard enough.”

“Oh, I will, Simmons,” he countered. “Go on, then.”

Her hands neatly at ten and two, Jemma checked the rear-view mirror and launched into her lecture. “In recreational mathematics, a Harshad number or Niven number in a given number base, is an integer that is divisible by the sum of its digits when written in that base. Harshad numbers in base n are also known as n-Harshad or n-Niven numbers.” She turned to him with a smug smile. “Does _that_ satisfy you, _darling_?”

“You can do better than that.” He turned his body in the passenger seat as far as the Mini would let him, leaning his head back against the window. It was nice to see the world from the left side of the car again.

Jemma pursed her lips a moment before continuing. “Harshad numbers were defined by D. R. Kaprekar, a mathematician from India. The word “Harshad” comes from the Sanskrit _harṣa_ meaning joy and _da_ meaning give, thus _joy-giver_ which leads me to suspect that D.R. Kaprekar is a man after our own hearts. The term “Niven number” arose from a paper delivered by Ivan M. Niven at a conference on number theory in 1977 which does seem to play into concerns around white privilege in academia. Surely someone could have corrected the first person to name it for Niven.”

Fitz just waved his hand to indicate he wanted more.

Jemma huffed in frustration. “Are you keeping an eye out for our exit?”

“I am,” he replied infuriatingly. “That’s what’s keeping me awake while I wait for one more obvious but interesting fact about the number 800.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “And _of course_ , though any primary school child could tell you this, it is the sum of four consecutive prime numbers 193, 197, 199 and 211.”

“You forget, love, not every primary school child is like us,” Fitz pointed out.

“And I am back here thanking the universe that not every adult is like you two either,” Daisy grumbled from where she lay across the back, her legs disappearing under Jemma’s seat which, as usual, was pushed as far forward as it could go. “Jeez, nerds, most people play Eye Spy!”

Jemma shot a glance at Fitz then turned her eyes back to the road. 

Daisy pulled herself up to sitting, her long, straight raven-black hair falling over her heavily lined eyes. “So, tell me where you’re taking me again?”

Fitz gave her a small smile. “A little place Jemma and I bought for when we retire.”

Daisy scoffed. “Is that on the cards?”

He shrugged, looking fondly at the woman in the driver’s seat. “Not any time soon, but eventually I’ll talk her into it.”

“No one will know you’re there, Daisy,” said Jemma, ignoring him. “You can lay low for as long as you need.”

Daisy placed a hand on Jemma’s shoulder and one on Fitz’s knee. “This means a lot, guys. I know I’ve caused you a lot of pain…”

Fitz leant forward, shaking his head and placing his hand on top of his friend’s. “That was years ago, Daisy. You know we never stopped looking out for you.”

“I know.” She looked out the window to blink back her tears. “And I appreciate it, I do. I just wish you two were the only ones.”

Fitz looked back out the windscreen to read the big green sign above the motorway. “Perthshire next exit,” he murmured to Jemma.

She smiled and nodded. “It’s beautiful here, Daisy,” she said. “We promise, you’re going to love it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, I reaaaaally want to say "to be continued..." but I better not.


	10. plenty of fish in the sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FitzSimmons are on holidays in the Seychelles trying to work out how to relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i’d like to do more with this (if only to justify the title which at the moment is no more than a not-quite-right idiom and vague reference to our beloved fitzsimmons scene in the finale part 1! also, it starts with the promise of angst that it doesn’t at all deliver…) but for now, here’s what I got:

Jemma Simmons didn’t need to be any kind of doctor to know that sustained elevation of adrenaline and cortisol combined with long-term survival on minimal sleep was going to catch up with them eventually. Venturing out of the optimum temperature of Seychelles International Airport, both of them raised an arm to shade their eyes against the extreme colour saturation that made them feel, with their pale skin and rumpled shades-of-grey traveling clothes, like they’d stepped out of a black-and-white movie into glaring Technicolor. She hoped she might get better at believing she belonged.

  
Muscles taut with years of tension would take more than twenty four hours of sand between the toes to forget. Lungs long accustomed to quick, shallow puffs of confined air would need just as long to learn how to really breathe again. Hearts that had grown use to functioning at capacity without a moment’s rest wouldn’t just settle at the sight of turquoise sky. And Fitz, who had faced death many more times than she cared to count – was relaxation even in his repertoire?

 

Their bodies didn’t know how to stop, much less their minds. Jemma paced, Fitz fidgeted. They talked over one another or slept fitfully on their red-eye flight. Even falling into the sun-warmed expanse of their colossal bed immediately on arrival they made love with a hungry urgency that Jemma wondered if they’d learn how to leave behind now that time was not so much of the essence. Was it in them to go slow, to savour, to quieten? If it wasn’t, that first big dent in her savings could perhaps have been postponed for something less frivolous.

  
But one glance at a handsomely dishevelled Fitz, gazing back at her with that look of disbelieving adoration he now permanently wore, even his pale skin appearing prematurely sun-kissed against the gleaming white of the sheets, she knew that the uninterrupted time alone was worth any sum.

“Hungry?” he murmured against her shoulder.

  
“Fitz, we only _just_ ate breakfast on the plane,” Jemma replied with fond exasperation.

  
“No, Jemma.” He shook his head. “A few slices of indeterminable tropical fruit and a hermetically sealed plastic container of milk is _not_ my idea of a hearty breakfast.”

  
“I read that the buffet breakfast here is meant to be extraordinary,” she said. “But that will require us putting on clothes.”

  
Fitz reached somewhat frantically for the watch he’d discarded on the nightstand. “Will the buffet still be open? It’s past nine.”

  
Jemma ran a soothing hand down his arm. “Fitz, do you really think I would try to take you anywhere that packed away breakfast before nine in the morning?”

  
“You know how I told you I loved you, Jemma?” he asked, grinning.

  
The newness of it still brought a beaming smile to her face. She nodded.

  
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “This is just one of the reasons why.”

  
Jemma swung her legs out of bed and padded on bare feet over to where they’d strewn their luggage in their haste to tear off one another’s clothes. Kicking the grey casual trousers and black t-shirt to one side, she bent to pick up her suitcase and turned to find Fitz smirking at her from where he still lay sprawled on the bed.

  
“I said they wouldn’t pack away breakfast before nine,” she said mock-warningly, lowering the suitcase onto the bed beside him and unzipping it. “I didn’t say they wouldn’t pack it away at all.”

  
“When have I ever had the chance to watch you walk around naked?” he shrugged, his grin rakish. “There hasn’t been a lot of opportunity for that sort of thing at the Playground. You can hardly blame a man for making the most of it.”

  
Jemma raised the lid of her suitcase in such a way that hid most of her body from Fitz, poking her tongue out at him over the top.

  
“Alright,” he grumped. “I’m getting up.”

  
“Put on that new shirt I bought you,” she said. “The pale blue one.”

  
“And I suppose you’re going to expect me to expose my knees as well as my elbows,” Fitz sighed, pushing himself off the mattress and padding towards the bags.

  
“You know I can’t get enough of you.” Jemma couldn’t help but touch him as he walked past, grabbing his arm so she could pull him close.

  
He looked down admiringly at the lemon yellow lycra of the bikini she’d just shimmied into.

  
“How am I supposed to leave the room now?” he whined.

  
“Oh, we’re leaving the room,” Jemma insisted, carefully drawing a pale green and white sundress out of her case by the straps. “Letting you see my new swimsuit is my little insurance policy to make sure you don’t just decide to let breakfast bleed into lunch.”

  
“No chance now,” he agreed, watching her slip into the dress as he tugged on his navy board shorts.

  
She sat on the bed to do up her new brown sandals (yet another holiday purchase) and observed as Fitz pulled the blue shirt over his shoulders and began folding back the long sleeves.

  
When he looked back at her she had caught her bottom lip between her teeth and was eyeing him appreciatively.

  
“What?” he asked, looking down at his shirt. “Have I got a button wrong?”

  
Jemma shook her head, getting to her feet. “Do you know,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him towards the door of their villa, “even back at the Academy I used to stop whatever I was doing to watch you roll up your sleeves?”

  
Fitz looked confused as he patted his pocket to check for the key and then yanked the door closed behind them. “You did?”

  
She nodded as they followed the pretty path through a forest of exotic palm trees.

  
“I should have realised then that this was on the cards.”

  
“I wonder how eighteen-year-old me would have responded to being propositioned by his best friend?” Fitz mused.

  
“I would have been very persuasive,” said Jemma.

  
Fitz laughed. “I have no doubt! How do you think I ended up following you onto The Bus? But back then I think that scared little fellow might have just booked a ticket home rather than work out what to do with you.”

  
They wandered into the restaurant and Fitz’s eyes widened at the huge selection of beautifully displayed breakfast foods drawn from all different cuisines.

  
“You’re impressed, aren’t you?” she whispered. “And this is included in our package. All you can eat.”

  
“I’ll say it again,” he whispered. “I love you, Simmons.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another fic I want to end with "to be continued..." even though there's not much hope of me coming back to it any time soon!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking out this odd collection of bits and pieces. I've mainly gathered them for me, but if you liked them - hurrah! :D


End file.
